


Things We Left Unsaid

by Gnilnim27



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt, M/M, Male Slash, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnilnim27/pseuds/Gnilnim27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Charles woke up in the hospital, surrounded by white sheets and the sterile smell of disinfectant, he was sure that Erik had just left the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things We Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This has been playing in my head and I just decided best get it out of my system. :)

Very quietly he lifted his pen and tapped the edge of the paper. Once, twice. Then he started to write, hunched over the page so that his hair fell over one eye. Outside the light slanted through the shutters criss-crossing so that it left stripes of darker shadows on his face; a cloud passed, a massive rollicking white thing but he didn’t notice the sudden coolness where a streak of light once rested on his cheek.

 

_‘Dear Erik,_

_It is summer now in England and I couldn’t have asked for finer weather. You know how much we Brits love the warm weather and the sun. I find myself in excellent health. The doctors said I should not give up on therapy and that radical new nerve surgery is making headlines across the globe and showing much promise. But do not worry, I have declined. I do not wish to put myself in further risk._

_The school is doing well, remarkably well, if I may say so myself - all the more reason to stay and devote my time to the students. I wouldn’t want to leave them for even a second. They are such a handful. We have a few new enrollments which always makes the other children particularly excitable. Alex is demonstrating a surprising ability to be a teacher. Just a little brushing up on the temperament I think._

_Hope you are well- wherever this letter may find you. I have so much to tell you. I wish you would drop by. You can see what we dreamed of manifest itself in the smiles of children, free to be who they really are. It’s peaceful. You will be safe here._

_Come home.’_

He paused, biting his lower lip before signing off. He stared at the letter, eyes moving quickly as he read it line by line. Then he folded it three times, neatly so the ends met and placed it in the drawer with the others.

* * *

The first time Charles woke up in the hospital, surrounded by white sheets and the sterile smell of disinfectant, he was sure that Erik had just left the room. The window was open and the chair had been pulled near to his bed, the spot just within the reach of his hand still faintly warm. He could imagine what Erik must have been feeling; guilt, shame and the same unflinching stubbornness which was probably why he couldn’t face Charles awake. He turned his head with the miniscule effort needed so that he could gaze at the window and tried not to think about how he couldn’t feel his legs.

Two and a half months later, after numerous doctors and physical therapy, he knew it was just that – his imagination.

Six months later he wrote the first and most scathing letter he had ever written. It was filled with every swearword and the most colorful variants of ‘fuck you’ he could think of. He sat alone in the study, scribbling with manic energy until his fingers hurt from gripping the pen. When he had finished he sat, panting, running his sore fingers through his hair. He addressed the letter to ‘Lensherr’, making up his mind to mail it first thing in the morning except… he didn’t know where Erik was or what he was doing. 

He let himself slump against the wheelchair, feeling the anger dissipate slowly, leaving him with nothing but coldness. The children had gone to bed and there was not a sound except for the lulling tick of the clock, ticking on and on like a never ending nightmare. 

The letter went into the drawer.

After that Charles decided it was time to stop all this mopping nonsense and get on with life. There was no point sitting down like an invalid just waiting for the final death rattle. He worked. There were so many things to do; the school, Hank’s experiments on the Cerebro – the latter he found most diverting , it granted him freedom like nothing else ever could.

In the Cerebro, Charles was stretched far and wide, like a giant bird of prey, touching minds however fleetingly, could give an experience of a lifetime. He strolled down the walkways of Venice, sat huddled in a cold dark prison cell, felt the cool rush of air over mountaintops. It was exhilarating. It was better than any recreational drug he had used in his youth.

It was dangerous, Charles was well aware. But it was so very tempting to spend a few minutes in someone else’s mind, picking away at memories, invisible and unknown. He found many mutants that way. And only a small part of him could admit that he was disappointed he had never managed to trace Erik.

* * *

 

_‘Erik, you are a fool._

_The attack on the government facility in Bruges was unprecedented and done with the worst possible assumptions at hand. I don’t know what your telepath has been telling you but maybe she isn’t a thorough or careful as you believe. I could have told you that the facility was completely devoid of mutants and to launch such a vicious assault on innocent people was pure malice, if not stupidity._

_If you’re not careful, you are going to get yourself killed. Worst you are going to get others killed._

_Why are you so blind?’_

 

 

“Professor?”

Charles had placed the book on his face, blocking out the sun. Hank and he were spread out comfortably on a blanket under a tree, Charles’ back propped against the trunk and his legs spread uselessly in front of him. The words were all blurred from being too near. He breathed in the scent of wood and fresh leaves while thinking about burning buildings and twisted metal.

“Professor?”

“Hmm?” said Charles absently. He plucked the book of his face and turned a lazy smile on Hank. His blue coat shone vermillion under the bright sunlight.

Hank shifted nervously. “It’s nothing… just wondering if you’re alright? You’ve been a little quiet lately.”

“I’m fine,” Charles said, then gently pushed the younger man’s worry away, like smoothing a wrinkle. He didn’t want concern right now and he most definitely did not want to talk. 

Hank’s face cleared. “Oh. Alright,” he agreed before turning from where he sat cross legged on the blanket to watch the children play baseball. Sound of laughter drifted their way. “You know, it’s been almost a year.”

Charles sighed. He always knew Hank could be persistent if he set his heart to it. “I was thinking,” Hank went on. “With what Magneto’s been doing lately… we should take some action.” Charles couldn’t remember the last time anyone said ‘Erik’ in his presence. 

“We’re not ready,” he replied, pushing himself up a little straighter. His legs dragged against the ground and when Hank turned to help. Charles willed him off. Hank lowered his hands, unsettled.

“Professor, we are ready.”

He gazed out to the children; Jean, her red hair flying beside her, Scott, looking small and determined with the bat and dozen others. Somewhere in the mansion, Alex was training a younger boy in the gym, Sean was in the kitchen rummaging to the fridge. They were ready. He had to stop thinking of them as boys and start seeing the young powerful men they had become.

He knew Hank was right. It was Charles who wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to lose all of this. He closed his eyes and suggested to Hank, “You will go back now and take the children with you.” He opened his sharp gaze to the copse of trees nearby before turning the on Hank. “It’s almost time for tea anyway.” 

Hank didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet smoothly. “I’ll do that.” The only moment doubt crossed his features was when he asked Charles, “Professor, you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Charles assured him again, letting it brush against his mind like a whisper. “I’ll call you when I need you.” He watched Hank retreating back as he hollered across the lawn. The children stopped their game and ran towards him in a loose group, all except Jean. She paused, facing him sharply, her face furrowed with question.

_Professor…_

_With the others, please. Don’t worry._ She didn’t seem satisfied but trotted off anyway when Hank shouted her name.

“You’re getting better at that.”

“And you’re not wearing your helmet,” Charles remarked. Erik stepped out from the shadows of the trees, absently brushing leaves off his jacket. 

Charles gazed up at him. He looked a little worse for wear; there was a cut on one cheek that had not quite healed and the lines on his face seemed more etched. This was not how Charles expected their meeting to be. He had expected a battle or perhaps a sordid confession or either one of them on the brink of death. It was rather anti-climactic the way Erik just strolled onto his mansion’s grounds. He thought he would feel angry and hurt and betrayed but instead of the onslaught of emotions that he braced himself for, there was only a warm fondness.

“I thought you were in Bruges.”

“I was,” Erik admitted. His eyes flashed in challenge. Charles didn’t rise to it, just sat there until Erik’s gaze softened and raked over Charles body, pausing at his legs before moving back to his face. He had never seen Erik so unsure.

“Oh, sit down,” Charles said. “I’m getting my neck strained looking up at you.” The man in front of him stiffened then relaxed before dropping languidly to sit on Charles’ left. Their shoulders didn’t brush and Charles was painfully aware of the space between them. He flicked idly through his book, finding comfort in the rustling pages instead of giving into the urge to drink the sight of Erik in. “I’m not the only telepath in this house. You should be more careful.” 

“I believe I was doing rather well,” Erik said dryly. “When did you notice?”

Charles had not. It was only when Hank mentioned Magneto that his thoughts of Erik found their source not three feet away. It took only a small effort to ensure Hank did not realize that he could smell Erik’s scent in the air. Instead, he said, “Miss Frost is a good teacher. I suppose you won’t need the helmet anymore?”

“The helmet is an easier and much more resilient protection.”

Charles hummed in agreement, ignoring the way his chest tightened. “What are you doing here, Erik?” He studied the way the light through leaves cast a kaleidoscope of shadows on his left palm. Erik watched with him for a moment then slowly, as if waiting for a refusal, interlaced their fingers together.

“I... I thought,” Charles said quietly. “That you left.” _For good._

Erik gave his hand a squeeze. “I wanted to see you but I was…,” he trailed off. “Afraid.”  
There were a million admissions in that one word.

Charles smiled. He hoped it wasn’t sad. “I just wish we had more time.” The sun went behind a cloud as a breeze picked up. The mansion looked much too large from where they sat.

“You know it wouldn’t matter if we did,” Erik said and Charles knew he was right. No amount of time would change Erik’s mind but maybe… maybe Erik was wrong. He tried not to think of what ifs but sometimes he played out a phantasmagoria of images, a lifetime away, and thought about things that could have been. “But we have some time now,” Erik told him, bending close so he could catch Charles’ eye. 

 

They talked; Charles, about his plans for the school, the programs he wanted to put into practice and Erik told him in a low voice of his vision for an utopia as Charles nodded and listen attentively. Mostly they just sat in silence and Charles tried to memorize the familiar thrum of Erik’s mind, just a jumble of brief emotions and surface thoughts, memorize them because he didn’t know if this would be the last time he could have this moment.  
And after two hours, when the sky turned a brilliant shade of pink and orange, Erik cradled his face, breathe the scent of Charles in, nose pushing into Charles’ hair. Then he was gone.

* * *

 

In a room, a man sits at a heavy metal desk, reading a letter and ignoring the sounds of a scuffle from the corridor outside. The room is sparsely furnished. There is a bed in a corner and maps and papers scattered on the floor. There are no windows but a fluorescent lamp lends a harsh white light that paints his face into dark angles and tiredness.

 

_'Dear Charles,_

_When you are reading this I would have left England. You are probably disappointed you missed me. I am sorry. You are probably wondering why I never came to see you and probably never will._

_The truth will hurt you. When I think about what happened on the beach, I wish I could turn back time. I think of all the things I could have done to save you. If I see you, I’m afraid my guilt will break my resolve. If it does not, then I am worst off for I will hate myself more. You are the only thing I will ever allow myself to regret._

_I know you think that you can change my mind. You cannot. The same way I could not change yours. We are both men who are too stubborn to be influenced by any other. And I cannot imagine myself being the person you are trying to shape me into. I’ve hardened a long time ago. I might have entertained your ideals for a while. They are appealing. But deep down, and I know you know this, Charles, deep down you know your method will never work. This world calls for a revolution. If I must be the tyrant that brings it, so be it._

_I don’t want you to be a man caught up in his past. That role is made for someone else but not made for you. I don’t know how else to be._

_I asked you to give up your cause for mine but I know as much you love me, you too have something else you love more. I am the same. There are things more important than you and me. I see now that this is the only way for us. Perhaps if we were born in another time, one where we will not have to lead to opposing revolutions._

_Because I have never said it and because I am selfish, I love you, Charles. Sometimes, I love you so much, I can’t breathe. But I will not be merciful on the battlefield and please don’t show me any. I do not deserve it._

 

_Erik'_

 

The letter in his hand is creased from where he had stuffed it into his jacket earlier. He had meant to leave it in the study, amidst the familiar paraphernalia of ink and pens and antiques that had little or no value to him. He can still remember Charles smile, eyes warm and his scent, like firewood and old books and safety. 

He folds the letter slowly, like folding an origami paper crane or a secret. Then he takes a lighter, sets the flame to the edge of the folded letter and watches the way the paper curls and blackens in protest against the heat. It is only when the flames reaches the tip of his fingers that he lets what is left of the paper fall to ashes on the table.


End file.
